Portrait of a Scandal

by Annie Burrows

  She gasped. ‘But that’s absurd! You know it is. Why, I was a virgin when we...’

  The edges of the room seemed to blur and darken. There was a roaring sound in her ears as her mind flew back to his shock, the night he’d first taken her to bed. How his attitude towards her had gone from scornful and aggressive to remorseful and caring.

  ‘You believed it,’ she whispered. ‘You believed I would be that wicked.’ Now her own legs were shaking. For a moment, she wondered if she was going to faint. But then fury surged through her veins, giving her strength to stand and speak her mind, instead of crumpling under the weight of hurt and shock.

  ‘You didn’t even demand proof from this so-called friend of yours. You couldn’t have done. You didn’t confront me with the tale either. You just...you just spurned me!’ Why had everyone, at that period in her life, been so ready to assume the worst of her?

  ‘I was devastated, Amy. I was so angry and hurt to think you could deliberately set out to deceive me that I lost my head.’

  ‘Because you believed it. How could you?’

  ‘Because Fielding, the friend who plucked up the courage to come to me with the tale, had been well chosen,’ he said bitterly. ‘He was the one friend I had who I knew would never tell a deliberate lie. He was not only too honest, but also not bright enough to spin any kind of yarn. He’d never have been able to keep all the threads straight. And he was torn, Amy. He hated having to speak ill of a lady. He only did so because he was convinced someone had to do something to save me from the clutches of an ambitious schemer.’ He huffed out a strange, bitter laugh. ‘That was what made him so convincing. The fact that he believed it so completely. The poor sap was such a slow-top that he couldn’t imagine anyone inventing a deliberate lie about a lady. He was so gullible he genuinely believed that if my father had breached the gentleman’s code by repeating such a foul tale about a lady, it could only have been from the best of intentions.’

  ‘You have a nerve to describe him as a slow-top,’ she breathed. ‘You fell for exactly the same lie he did.’

  ‘Did I? I’m not so certain any more. Deep down I think I always knew my father was behind it. I knew what my father was like. I should have known he would thrust a spoke in my wheel, if he were to discover I’d decided to marry you, rather than tamely submit to the plans he’d started making for me. He must have been livid when his spies brought back tales of me planning to marry a nobody, and settle down in obscurity, just as he thought he’d finally got me to knuckle under. And even if it wasn’t true, about you...but I told myself it must be. It made sense, you see.’

  ‘What do you mean? How could it make sense? What had I ever done to make you think I was...that kind of woman?’

  ‘You’d appeared to fall for me practically at first sight,’ he said bleakly. ‘When everyone else knew there was nothing special about me. I was only the youngest son of four. The runt of the litter. The one with no ambition. The one whose only talent was for drawing, a subject more suited to women than to real men.’

  ‘That’s utter nonsense.’

  ‘It was what I felt, at the time. That you couldn’t possibly have seen anything in me to admire, apart from my susceptibility to your charms. I could believe you might have seen me as a pigeon ripe for plucking. And then there was the matter of your behaviour.’ The corners of his mouth pulled into something very like a sneer. ‘You were the daughter of a vicar. At first you seemed so prim and proper, but in no time at all you were letting me lure you into secluded places. Nay, you encouraged me to lure you into secluded places so that I could kiss you, Amy. So you could set my blood on fire. And I was always the one to call a halt. I got the feeling you would have let me do whatever I wanted...’

  Yes, she would have done. Because she’d loved him. Loved him! And all the time...

  Something inside her snapped. She flew at him, pounding at his chest with her fists. He grabbed her wrists to hold her at a distance, which so infuriated her she kicked out at his legs, twisting and hissing like a cat.

  But Nathan was far stronger than her. He just held her at arm’s length until, exhausted, she would have collapsed into a sobbing heap at his feet if he hadn’t scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the sofa where he cradled her on his lap, rocking her as she carried on weeping.

  ‘I hate you,’ she said, when she could at last find the breath, and the control, to form words.

  ‘It’s no more than I deserve.’

  ‘You...you...destroyed me...’

  ‘My father destroyed us both. The last ten years have been sheer hell, Amy—’

  ‘No. You destroyed us. You had no faith in me. Not even when we met again. You deliberately seduced me, for...for revenge, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was no point in denying it. That was exactly what he’d done. ‘At first, I did want revenge. Until I discovered the truth. And then all I felt was remorse. I wanted to make reparation for all the misery I caused you. I wanted to wipe out the misery by making you happy instead. By giving you one perfect month. A month where you had all you’d ever wanted. But somewhere along the way I fell in love with you all over again.’

  ‘You don’t love me. You never loved me. You couldn’t, to have believed such foul lies.’

  ‘I did love you, Amy. Not enough, it is true. But I love you more now. For knowing that you were innocent. For growing into the woman you are now. Strong, and independent, and wary, and fiery...’

  ‘You don’t know me any better now than you knew me then,’ she cried, wriggling off his lap. ‘Not if you think I’m going to have anything to do with you ever again, after learning what you did to me.’

  ‘Amy, please...’

  He reached for her, but she darted away from him, towards the door.

  ‘Don’t leave like this,’ he begged her. ‘Not while you are so upset. You shouldn’t be alone...’

  ‘I have been alone,’ she breathed, ‘for the last ten years.’ She dashed a tear from her cheek with an angry swipe of her hand. ‘And alone is exactly how I like it. If you don’t let anyone near you, then nobody can hurt you.’

  ‘That’s true. But it’s going to be a lonely life, if you cling to that belief and never let anyone near.’

  ‘No. It won’t be. Lonely is when you are surrounded by people who betray you. And despise you. And only pay you attention when they want something. That is loneliness.’

  She flew to the door and ran out.

  Oh, God, she was so angry she couldn’t see straight. He should know. He’d been in just such a fury on the night Fielding destroyed his hope in the possibility of marrying for love. So he plunged straight after her. He couldn’t bear it if some harm befell her on the crowded streets.

  He didn’t try to stop her, for he knew she was in no fit state to listen to reason. He just kept her in his sights, ready to intervene should she run into danger, until he’d seen her reach her lodgings safely. And then he went to find her friend, and her French lover, to tell them that she needed them. She wouldn’t tolerate him anywhere near, for a while, but she must not be alone.

  Eventually, the first flood of her anger would recede, and then, by hook or by crook, he would make her listen to him again.

  That was the one advantage he had now, which she had lacked the last time this same lie had driven them apart. She’d had no weapons with which to defend herself. No idea she’d even needed to prove her innocence. She’d been completely in the dark.

  But this time, they both knew exactly where they stood. And he wasn’t going to give her up without a fight. He was no longer an insecure youth, torn between staying loyal to his family and taking a chance on love. He was a man now. A man who’d learned that love was worth fighting for.

  Whatever it took. No matter how long it took.

  Chapter Twelve

  She ha
d to get the portrait from him.

  She couldn’t believe, now, that she’d been stupid enough to pose for it. Naked. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were burning with mortification.

  If he was desperate enough for security to ask her to marry him, he’d have no compunction about selling it if she left it behind in Paris. Or deliberately displaying it somewhere if he decided to take a more humiliating revenge for her refusal. He had a reputation for not being particularly kind to former lovers. And she had turned him down in the most insulting terms. She’d called him a slow-top, she’d accused him of being shallow and marrying his first wife for her money, of being faithless and worthless and she didn’t know what else.

  Oh, yes. She’d told him she hated him, and then, when ten years of repressed rage had swelled up, the dam had burst and she’d physically attacked him.

  Not that he didn’t deserve every name she’d called him, but it hadn’t been a wise move to make an enemy of him all over again. Only look what lengths he’d gone to the last time, when he’d only thought she’d betrayed him. He’d coldly, deliberately done the very worst thing he could have done to her. He’d flaunted another woman—a rich, titled woman—in her face. Even gone so far as to marry her to make doubly sure he inflicted the maximum hurt he possibly could.

  Not only that, but he’d held on to his anger for ten years. He’d admitted he started up their affair because he wanted revenge.

  No. Nathan Harcourt wasn’t a man to cross with impunity. He’d get his own back on her somehow.

  Well then. Her mouth compressed into a hard line. She’d just have to force herself to go and see him, one last time, before she left Paris. Offer him whatever he wanted to release the portrait to her.

  Any sum of money, that was, no matter how steep. She would pay it.

  And if his demands were not of the financial kind?

  Well, he would be wasting his time trying to blackmail her into anything other than monetary payment. Marry him she would not. Nor let him touch her again.

  Anything but that!

  She’d just risen from her chair to get ready to go and tell him so when Fenella knocked timidly on her door.

  ‘I know you said you wanted to be alone this morning, but I thought I’d better let you know...that is...he’s here. Mr Harcourt.’

  Amethyst dropped back down into her chair.

  ‘I tried to turn him away,’ Fenella continued apologetically, ‘but he’s most insistent...’

  She’d just bet he was. He’d already worked out that he had a valuable bargaining chip in that portrait and was clearly determined to start negotiations for it before she left.

  Her fingers clawed round the arms of her chair

  ‘Show him in.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. His visit has saved me the bother of going out and seeing him, actually, which I had planned to do later on. He and I have a few matters we need to settle before I leave France. Private matters,’ she added, giving Fenella a stern look that sent her scuttling away just like the mouse Nathan had so disparagingly likened her to.

  She took a deep breath as soon as the door shut behind her companion, suddenly wishing she’d taken a bit of care over her appearance when Fenella had persuaded her to roll out of bed this morning. She hadn’t bothered looking in a mirror, but since she’d scarcely slept last night, and spent most of the day before weeping, she must look a fright. Had she even brushed her hair? She raised a shaky hand to her head and confirmed her suspicion that she had not, when they met with a riot of tangled curls.

  She let her hand drop to her lap where she clenched it into an impotent fist. She should have told Fenella to make him wait while she tidied herself up. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how low he’d managed to bring her.

  For the second time in her life.

  But it was too late to do so much as reach for a comb. There was a scuffling sound from just outside the door, then it swung open and Nathan slid in sideways, his movements hampered by a huge, square package done up in brown paper.

  A package that was the exact size of the portrait.

  She shot to her feet. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  He propped up the package against the wall to the right of the door before looking her way. He seemed tense, but defiant, turning his hat round and round in his hands.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ he began.

  ‘Never mind all that.’ She made a dismissive gesture with her hand as she strode across to what might be her portrait.

  ‘I was hoping you would want to keep it,’ he said. ‘So I took the chance that it might be my ticket in to see you.’

  She shot him just one suspiciously wary glance before tearing at the wrapping with her fingers to find out exactly what it was he’d brought with him. Who knew what kind of trick he might be trying to play on her? She cursed under her breath when she broke a fingernail. Where were the scissors when she needed them?

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a pocketknife.

  She took it from him with an indefinable noise, halfway between the words thank you and a snarl, and severed the string.

  It was the picture. Of her. Half-naked and looking at the artist as though she wanted to devour him.

  With a shiver, she twitched the slashed wrappings back in place, then dragged the whole thing across the room and tucked it safely behind a sofa.

  ‘You may be able to hide that away,’ he observed, ‘but you can’t hide from what has passed between us this past month.’

  ‘Can you blame me for wanting to?’

  ‘Not if this was just some tawdry affair, no. But it is so much more. I’ve asked you to marry me, Amy—’

  ‘And I have said no.’

  ‘You said it when you were angry with me for discovering what an idiot I’d been before.’ The corners of his mouth tilted into a rueful, yet hopeful smile. ‘I was hoping your temper might have cooled somewhat since then.’

  ‘Oh, I’m perfectly cool today,’ she assured him haughtily. ‘You might say, to the point of chilliness. Why, towards you, I feel...positively frigid.’

  ‘Do you, though?’

  He tossed the hat aside, strode across the room, hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

  And even though she was still furious with him, especially since he had the nerve to try smiling at her, her body melted into him the moment he took her in his arms. Her own arms went round his neck. Her foolish lips parted for his and kissed him back. Only her pride stood apart, shaking its head in reproof.

  ‘You want me, Amy,’ he breathed, breaking their kiss. ‘Even though I’m no good, you want me. Don’t pretend you don’t. Don’t be a liar. That kind of behaviour is beneath you.’

  ‘Who are you to tell me how to behave?’ Injured pride had her pulling out of his arms. She managed to take two steps away from him, spied her chair and took another two steps, so that she’d put it between her and him.

  ‘The man who loves you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again. You never loved me. You couldn’t have.’

  ‘Are you saying that because of the way I behaved, or because you believe there is something in you that makes you unworthy of love?’

  ‘What?’ She flinched. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean. I recognise that aspect of you, Amy, because I have it, deeply ingrained in me, too. Like me, I think you’ve always had to try to prove yourself to parents who expect more from you than you are capable of being. Who want you to be someone you will never be. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that, since we parted, you’ve carried on living the kind of life where people around you always measure you by a different set of standards from those
that matter to you.’

  She gasped and pressed one hand to her chest. It was as if he’d looked right into her soul and divined every last one of her secrets.

  So she had no choice but to fight back. She reached for the cruellest weapon she had at her disposal.

  ‘You said it yourself, Nathan,’ she sneered. ‘You are no good. I can’t depend on a single word you say. You made me fall in love with you, then decided I wasn’t good enough. And now you talk about marriage, when all the world has seen what a dreadful husband you can be...’

  ‘I’ve already told you it wasn’t because you weren’t good enough! I confessed my darkest shame to you. You know why I spurned you, Amy, so don’t give me that excuse...’ He stalked up to the chair, stopping only when his knees touched the upholstered cushions. She gripped the back, but he was so close it scarcely formed a barrier between them at all now.

  ‘And as for being a dreadful husband—I’ll tell you about my first marriage, shall I? How I fell into it because I’d ceased caring what happened to me? There was great gaping hole in my future, a void where my dreams of being your husband had once been. My father was telling me that I had exhibited poor judgement and that it was better to let him organise my life. And I believed him. I thought I’d made a terrible error of judgement by falling for you. I had only two things left: a chance to redeem myself with my father, of making him proud of me by going along with his plans, and a burning desire to wound you the way you wounded me. Marrying Lucasta achieved both those ends. She was the perfect weapon. To prove to you that I didn’t care. To show you that I would rather marry a girl with a pedigree, and a fortune, than one with a pretty face.’

  Amethyst flinched. She’d known it. She’d known he’d done his utmost to wound her. That he wasn’t the kind to turn the other cheek.